A Pregnant Freak of Nature

So, last Sunday morning the family is scrubbed, pressed, combed and bowed. They headed out to church (without me, again) and I waved goodbye. They were excited because after church dad was taking the 3 kiddos on an overnighter into St. George for swimming and ice cream and junk food and fun.

My handsome husband and I had planned for us to take the kids this summer on an 8 day trip through Utah, visiting various family. I did not grow up in Utah, so this is still exciting for me to do. I love the mountains and the green trees and cooler temps.

That all changed when I was put on bed rest. It was decided that handsome would still take a trip with the kids, but it got changed to 4 days in Arizona at other relatives.

Then I dilated to a 4.

It was decided that if I dilated any more in one week, then they would cancel the Arizona trip.

I dilated to a 5.

OH, I felt so bad! The kids are pent up (it's too hot out to play) and really looked forward to seeing Grammy and swimming. After much discussion it was decided that a one-day-trip to St. George was doable. I was happy to know that they would be close enough to return quickly, but still far enough to enjoy one night of jumping on a motel bed. Who doesn't love that?

So, Sunday. Clean, waving, happy. Then, about an hour into church I start having contractions. Hard ones. 10 minutes apart. Between 45 aand 60 seconds each. SHOOT!

I douse my insides with water. I change position. I get out of bed. I walk slowly. I take a shower. I drink more water. I drink yet more water. Finally, after about 2 hours it seems to stop. Thank heavens.

Hansome comes home with the excited kids and yells "change clothes! Have a snack! We're leaving in a half hour!" While I ask him to chat with me for a minute.

He's concerned. I'm determined that I'm ok and that he should go. It takes some convincing, but he decides that it's ok and he gets the kids dressed, lunched, wrangled, and into the car. I say about 9 prayers that they will be ok and that I'll be ok while they're gone.

I wave goodbye!

45 minutes later they all walk back in the house. Dad is cranky! The boy has a tummy ache. The oldest girl forgot her inhaler. The youngest girl is just caught in the middle. Dad is nearing the edge of patience.

After potty stops, pick ups of meds and drinks of water, I sit them all down and I use my stern voice. "Ok, listen up! Is there ANYTHING anyone needs to take?" (heads shake in the room) "Boy, do you need to stay home with me? Are you sick?" (No, I'll make it!) "Ok, this is the LAST time I expect to see you. Do not bug dad while he drives! Do not ask when you will get there! Do not ask for different music! Do not bug each other or touch each other or whine about ANYTHING. Got it?!" (heads nod) "Ok, now, go GET in the CAR and have a GOOD TIME!" I get kisses and the kids bolt to the car.

Handsome looks at me and says "wow, you more madder about all this than I thought you would be." I answer back "sometimes it's all about putting on a show." He feels better, I feel better, they leave.

I do great, no contractions. They arrive back on Monday evening.

Two hours later I'm sitting in the recliner (excuse me, it's called "The Man Chair") reading to the kids before bed. I notice that I'm having contractions again. Hard. 10 minutes apart. I ask for a bottle of water, and then another. I kiss the kids goodnight.

10 minutes later I'm on all fours on the floor with a contraction so hard it makes me cry. It won't let up.

Handsome is hovering, touching lightly, asking if we need to call someone and get to the hospital. I'm not 34 weeks until Thursday.

I tell him "no" and ask for a third bottle of water. I take the anti-contraction meds I always take before bed and run a hot bath and start praying. I have a 4th bottle of water.

2 hours later, it's stopped again and I manage to sleep through the night.

Tuesday we spend our 5 hours at the hospital. Of course, just like when you take your car into the shop, nothing happens. They check my cervix, and I'm kind of shocked, and happy to find I'm still at a 5. They call my Dr. and tell me "he'll probably just send you home". However, it takes 50 minutes to get an approval from my doctor. The kind nurse comes back in with my release papers, grins and then looks at my monitor. I've had 5 contractions in 50 minutes.

Nurse: Oh! I have to call your doctor.

So, it's decided I need a nasty little shot to stop the contractions. I may need up to 3.

ONE. Ouch. An hour later...

Nurse: I have to call your doctor

TWO. Ouch. Another hour. Did I tell you these things make me shake? I tried to put on lip gloss. It was comical.

Nurse: I have to call your doctor.

They decide to give me two big pills to help stop things more. They give me the pills and I get checked again. Still a 5! Woo!

My kind and generous husband goes to Tommy's Burgers and buys me delicious and greasy food. And a diet. I feel bad because I'm in triage with other women who are actually going to have their babies today and they can't eat, but I'm starved. C'est la vie.

I've stopped! Finally. The nurse calls my doctor again, gets the ok to send me home but says "I have to check one more time, sorry!"

Ok, not to be gross, but I'm lying there with my nethers exposed, and she's chatting with my husband about the book he's reading. A history of Muslim and Christian something-or-other. She's practically turned around backwards while doing my exam. Suddenly she stops and sits on the bed. She looks concerned. This is taking a while. Too long; and it's pretty uncomfortable.

Nurse: I have to call your doctor.

It seems I've quietly dilated to a 6. Seriously? I mean, most women are begging for drugs at a FOUR! I don't know if I should be proud of my strong pioneer stock (Ha! I am no wimpy city girl. I could birth babies on the prairie and still make a mock apple pie from ritz crackers that same night!) or be afraid that they're going to keep me in the hospital.

The nurse hooks the monitors back up. She's really quite nice and apologizes. We talk about how wonderful Nothing Bunt Cakes are - and vintage aprons.

Eventually, over the concerns of my shocked nurse, my kind doctor sends me home with a prescription for more brown pills.

Even my doctor is shocked the next day when he checks me himself. "Yep, you're at a 6."

On my out the door, the nurses in my OB's office asked if I was ok. "Nobody walks around at a 6!" So I asked "never?" Nurse: Hardly ever.

I'm extremely glad that Heavenly Father helped my body to be still and calm during the 24 hours everyone was gone. I know he's helping to keep her in right now.

Still, I am a freak of nature. Obviously.